


The Nefarious L Word

by ZazzyZ



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, And Meg don't know that Ryan is Vagabond, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Drama, F/M, Fake AH Crew, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Light background Mavin, Love, Protective Ryan, Reporter Meg, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, The guys don't know that Ryan has a girlfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 21:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8225234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZazzyZ/pseuds/ZazzyZ
Summary: Ryan has been dating Meg for six months now, and he's really starting to like her. And it seems like she really likes him. One teeny problem, though. Ryan is a core member of the Fake AH Crew - the gang that runs and ruins Los Santos. And Meg? Well, she just so happens to be a reporter in charge of covering the Fake AH Crew and their misdeeds. But the further their relationship develops the more Ryan finds it impossible to tell her that he is Vagabond of the Fake AH Crew. Fate will have to intervene - and the results won't be pretty. Or will they?





	

 

“No, but get this,” Meg was saying conspiratorially, her voice dropping to barely a whisper and leaning across the table. Ryan smiled fondly at his girlfriend and leaned in slightly, too. She was glancing marginally to her left and right, with her usual playful solemnity, and Ryan was hit with a rush of lov – no, _affection,_ for her.

Shaking off potentially dangerous thoughts, but being distracted all the same by her mesmerizing smile, Ryan snapped out of his reverie when Meg deemed their current location to be a safe place to talk. They were at Bean There, Done That, the coffee shop where they met and now frequented so often that the staff didn’t ask their orders anymore. In their usual comfortable booth at the back of the store, they were hardly likely to be overheard. Still, Meg leveled her gaze sternly on their usual waitress for a moment before talking.

“I think I have a story that will make or break my career,” she said finally, with an excited bounce in her seat. Ryan squeezed her hand enthusiastically. He certainly was pushing his luck, dating a reporter, but in spite of his job description he still found her profession intriguing.

 “That’s great! Am I allowed to know what it is?”

She rolled her eyes teasingly. “Of course,” she snorted, then added seriously, “But you can’t tell anyone, not even Geoff at work, okay?” 

Ryan gave a tight smile and nodded. Here it was, again, his biggest lie coming back to haunt him. Meg believed Ryan was a banker who travelled overseas for his job a lot, and in fairness nothing about his demeanor or attitude had ever given her a reason to think otherwise. But Ryan’s true self was far more sinister than Meg would ever even dream. Because in reality Ryan was Vagabond, member of the infamous Fake AH Crew, ruthless mercenary and assassin. All those titles were from headlines pulled straight from Meg’s newspaper, _Los Santos Times,_ too. 

Meg had no idea Ryan was Vagabond, thankfully. He was quite sure they wouldn’t still be dating if she knew. There’d been some close calls, certainly – the reason why she believed his best friend at work was named Geoff was one such occasion. In fact, they had run into one another – literally – at this very coffee shop when he was trying to hide in a crowd from the police. He had stumbled into the shop, limping slightly from a fall from a fire escape, and knocked her mug straight out of her hands onto her new dress. A typical rom-com movie cute moment ensued – he used his southern charm, apologized for his ‘darn clumsiness’, then smoothly asked her if he could repay her with another cup and a date.

Of course at the time he had been merely trying to blend in, and she was a hapless pawn in that game. But after just half an hour hiding in the corner of the rustic old shop with her, under the pretense of a date, he had to admit it felt as though she had duped him, not the other way around. She was amazing, charming, clever, solemn and witty all at once – and before he knew it, six months had passed and he was still pretending to himself that he was just using her to blend in.

Still, she was miles from the truth, and simply thought him to be a mysterious, private guy. He love- _no, liked –_ that she was okay with him having his own space. Yet they practically lived together already, with almost all of his personal belongings scattered around her apartment – though he had very few. Ryan’s thoughts were a mess. It had been quite a while since he had felt this rattled. She had really got under his skin. He was thinking about her all the time, he was concerned about her safety; he was sacrificing his personal space for her, for god’s sake. He almost told her he was Vagabond three nights ago. He shivered at that thought, knowing her reaction would be sub-optimal, to say the least. He certainly wouldn’t see her again, that’s for sure – and that thought made his heart wrench in a way he didn’t understand. Now, watching her watch him with amused confusion, he felt again that nefarious ‘L’ words stirring on his lips. Clamping it down, he zoned back in to what she was saying.

“Hey, earth to Rye-bread,” she said, tapping her fingers lightly on his hand. “Are you listening to my story?” 

“Sorry, I was just distracted by your beautiful eyes,” he said, which was partly true, but she still wacked his hand lightly. 

“Ew, sappy,” she said. “That’s not going to get you out of ignoring me. But I will forgive you, because you look tired, but also because I really want to tell someone this story.” 

“Alright, I’m listening now, I swear. Go ahead.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a yellow manila folder and slid it to him across the table. Struck by a feeling of de-ju-vu – Geoff had done the same thing to him, this morning – he took it with a feeling of impending doom. He opened it gingerly as Meg began to talk.

 “So, you know Mogar and Vav of the Fake AH Crew?" 

Just like that, Ryan’s hands froze and his heart skipped a beat. She must have noticed, because she frowned, and quickly he regained his composure and nodded with the appropriate amount of interest. He berated himself internally – he had spent three weeks being tortured by a rival gang once without saying a word the entire time, but one sentence from her and he was a nervous mess.

“Well,” Meg was continuing excitedly as she tried to keep her voice low and in check, “I think they might be – _dating.”_

For a beat, Ryan didn’t react. Then the absurdity of the situation hit him and he broke into laughter.

Meg leaned back, crossed her arms across her chest and watched him, an eyebrow raised, as he snorted. Of course Gavin and Michael were dating – they had been for two years – but when she brought up the Fake AH Crew, that was not what he was expecting. No one would believe it, anyway. Finally there was a break in his laughter, and she interrupted.

“Open the folder,” she said irritably. Still chuckling slightly, he did just that. 

Inside were two A3 photos that made his laughter stop immediately. Across the table, Meg smirked victoriously. 

Two pictures, taken in succession, of Gavin and Michael on a motorcycle. The photographer had clearly been in an alley, and as Gavin and Michael zoomed past had taken two quick, somewhat blurry photos. What was happening, though, was unmistakable.

Michael was facing forwards, driving the motorcycle, with Gavin in his lap. Gavin’s arms were over Michael’s shoulders, and with a gun in each hand he was shooting at the cops pursuing them. But – _typical_ – they had taken a moment in the chaos to kiss. 

Meg could prove exactly what she said. Of course, that was not the issue – Michael and Gavin had been dating for quite a while, and though they had never taken any great pains to hide their relationship, it had never come out. No, the issue was _how_ the photo was taken. Ryan’s heart was racing. Fake AH Crew heists were violent and messy, mostly for the police but civilians could be subjected to accidental fire. In fairness, they were more likely to be unintentionally shot by the very police attempting to protect them, but still. If Meg had been within a five mile radius of a Fake AH heist…

“How did you get these photos?” he asked abruptly, looking at his girlfriend with only a hint of trepidation. She frowned, clearly unsure of what his problem was. 

“I took them.” 

Ryan’s worst fears were confirmed. He threw the photos back on to the table, perhaps with a little more force than necessary. She raised her eyebrows incredulously, leaning back in.

“What’s your problem?” she asked, more puzzled than angry. “This isn’t because I was right, surely…?” 

“No,” said Ryan, trying to keep his voice level. “It’s because you were _that close_ to a Fake AH heist. Are you trying to get yourself killed? They are dangerous, there are a lot of civilian casualties near their heists, this is not worth a story-“

But Ryan could see the minute he explained why he was upset, that he had lost her. Her face smoothed and adopted an expression of playful long-suffering. She knew little of his dangerous activities, so she simply thought he was overly cautious about everything. In truth, his cautious nature was what had kept him alive so long. But Meg was something different, and that’s what made her so exciting. She had grown up in Los Santos, so she could hold her own, no doubt about it. But she took unnecessary risks for things that Ryan couldn’t understand, and it was usually for her job. His voice faltered – they both knew he wouldn’t this, stubborn as a bull as she was – but he attempted again anyway. 

“Please,” he tried. “Don’t go near them when they’re heisting. They’re dangerous. Please, promise me. I couldn’t –“ he paused for a second, knowing in his heart he was about to say, _I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you,_ but he changed mid-sentence. “I couldn’t stand it if you were hurt.”

 Meg’s expression softened. She slid out of her side of the booth and in to his, taking his hands in hers and resting her head on her shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” she said gently. “I know you want to protect me from everything, but this is my job. This could be the biggest scoop of my career, Rye.”

He pulled her hands to his chest, angling her body to his. He was trying to get her as close to him as possible, trying to make her feel this heart-wrenching terror he felt. The closer she was, the more it felt he could truly portray to her this crushing anxiety he felt in his chest. He stared into her eyes, willing her to understand without words.

“Please,” he said finally. “You’ve got the photos already. Please, just don’t go near them again. Write the story, but promise me – don’t go to another one of their heists again.”

Seeing how fervent he was, she caved. “Okay,” she whispered, running he hand along her face. “I promise.”

Ryan was hit with a wave a relief, and that should have been the end of that. Ryan told Michael and Gavin to expect an expose relatively soon, to which they both gleefully inquired which reporter had finally puzzled it out. The Fake AH Crew did not know about Ryan’s girlfriend, so luckily the name meant nothing to them, though they were impressed with her boldness. Ryan knew Michael and Gavin would not attempt to stop the story, given how little they cared about what anyone in Los Santos thought of them, so there was no danger there for Meg, either. That _should_ have been the end of it, and for a while it seemed like it was – until, a month later, Jack suggested a robbing a bank.

* * *

 The heist had gone pretty well so far, all things considered. Mind you, Ryan and Michael _were_ hiding behind an abandoned civilian car, desperately keeping the police at bay while they waited for a pick-up from Jack. Michael was screaming instructions to Jeremy, who was providing cover from a roof-top across the way, while Gavin was back at the apartment today, disabling alarms, security cameras and jamming the police’s radio signals. Geoff was in a helicopter preparing to pick up Jeremy, but Ryan knew he wouldn’t still be in the air for long if Jack didn’t show up soon. Ryan was watching every move behind them, while Michael covered their front. They had left the bank without issue, but their own getaway vehicle had been exploded as they made their way to it, forcing them to seek shelter behind another burnt-out car caught in the eruption. Jack had been waiting with the getaway car just outside of the city, where the team would meet to lose the cops on Mt. Chiliad. Jack had abandoned her position immediately, however, when she heard of the trouble Michael and Ryan were in. 

They were completely exposed on all sides, and it was only Jeremy’s sniping keeping the police at a distance. Jack was shouting that she was just a minute away when Ryan noticed movement behind another smoking car to their left. It was quite close, and he leveled his gun to it, preparing to shoot, when he saw a shimmer of purple hair. 

He froze, barely daring to believe it. He shifted forward a little, his body still protected by the car – but only by inches.

He caught Meg’s eye just as she caught his.

He swore colorfully and punched the side of the car, and she tripped back with fear. Of course he was wearing his mask so she didn’t recognize him, but he certainly cut an imposing figure. In her alarm, though, she had stumbled back into the view of the police. The police, incompetent as they were, perceived a small movement behind the other car and opened fire on her, too. He heard her scream and she whipped her arm to her chest, cowering behind the wheel of the car. A wave of insensible rage hit Ryan and from that point on, he lost all conscious thought.

He straightened, ignoring Michael’s yells. With precision and finesse he wasn’t aware he was capable of, he took out officer after officer. It was like Whack-A-Mole – every time a cop poked his head up, he was knocked down. No more than half a minute had passed when Jack pulled up, but he could hear over the chaos officers bawling for backup. The van slammed to a hard stop in front of the car Ryan and Michael were behind. Michael stood, immediately running to the van. As he passed, he gave Ryan a clasp on the arm and an impressed glance. He sprinted to the van, yanking the doors open, then paused with alarm when he Ryan turn mechanically away from the van and began walking in the opposite direction. He could hear, faintly, Michael and Jack screaming at him in his earpiece, but he did not comprehend their words.

Instead, he strode to the car Meg was hiding behind, the van blocking bullets between the two cars. He found her, knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible behind the wheel of the car. He seized her arm and hauled her to her feet.

She was trembling, and attempted to pull away from him until he leveled her with a gaze that quelled any resistance. He all but dragged her to the van by her upper arm, pushed her roughly in and slammed the door behind him. Jack took off with squealing tires without further ado.

 For a moment, Ryan heard and saw nothing. His mind was mindless fury. It was directed at Meg, certainly, for going to the heist though she promised not to, but mainly his anger was at the police for having the gall to take shots at his girlfriend. Now the danger had passed somewhat – she was safe in the van, at least – he was able to calm down enough to take stock of the situation. 

“What the fuck, Vagabond?!” Michael shrieked, his body twisted around in the passenger seat. In his comms, he could hear Geoff asking what was going on. Meg, beside him, was cowered low in her seat, clearly trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

“Well, he’s dragged some civilian into the car for no apparent reason apart from to be fucking weird!”

Ryan was now at a crossroads. Meg was not stupid – she would recognize his voice the moment he spoke. But he couldn’t be incommunicable for the rest of the heist, and he couldn’t ignore Michael. In spite of his reputation for being silent and foreboding, heists required constant contact – which he delivered, appearances be damned. The rest of the team were waiting expectantly on the comms for an answer. So he reached under his seat and drew out a box of tranquiller-filled syringes they kept there. He much preferred this to physically knocking her out, and was glad they had taken their kidnapping van to this heist. It seated the most amount of people, but it also had supplies he was unaware he would need. He turned away from her, took out a syringe, checked it had no air in it. Then, with a fluid movement, and before she could react, he spun round, pushed it into the crook of her arm and compressed it.

She screamed, once, pushing him away and yanking the syringe out. But its contents had already begun to take effect, and the syringe slipped out of her fingers and smashed on the floor of the van. She looked at him with horror, then the light slid out of her eyes like a curtain closing and she slumped forward. He caught her before she fell off the seat, pulling her into his lap. He checked her pulse, then lifted her eyelids – out cold. For a moment, he sat back in his seat, resting his head and closing his eyes. Suddenly frustrated by what this life had led him to, he yanked off his mask and threw it viciously at the back of Jack’s seat. Michael was watching him expectantly, albeit slightly worried.

 “She’s my girlfriend,” he said emotionlessly, and in his earpiece he heard the rest of the team make noises of shock. Clearly, this was not a concept Michael had considered.

“Like in real life?” he asked unthinkingly, in a very Gavin-esque way. Ryan rubbed his eyes exhaustedly, smearing his grease-paint he wore under his mask in the event his disguise was taken or he couldn’t wear it.

“Yes,” he groaned. “But I haven’t told her I’m Vagabond.”

Michael twisted back around in his seat. “Shit,” he said, looking out the front window as Jack skillfully dodged a cop car, remaining tactfully silent all the while.

“Shit,” muttered Jeremy on the comms, Geoff murmuring in agreement over the thrumming noise of the helicopter.

“Shit.” Gavin agreed, weighing in for the first time.

“Yeah,” mumbled Ryan, looking out the window too as he absentmindedly stroked Meg’s hair. “Shit.”

* * *

 

Jack met Geoff and Jeremy’s helicopter just as it landed, and the exchange to the van occurred seamlessly. Ryan lifted Meg and pulled her into the backseat with him so Jeremy and Geoff could climb in without issue. Jack tore off the moment they scrambled in, Geoff reaching over the back of his seat to clap Ryan sympathetically on the shoulder as a smattering of bullets hit the van. At that moment Gavin remotely detonated the helicopter Geoff and Jeremy had arrived in, and with this distraction successfully underway they escaped into the mountains. 

Ryan didn’t say or do anything but listlessly stare at Meg’s face, running his fingers through her hair. She had indeed been shot, too, a bullet having grazed her forearm shallowly. He tore a section of his shirt and tied it round the wound, all the while numbly considering his options. 

There wasn’t much to consider. He knew what he had to do. This had gone long enough. Sure, they could dump her on the street somewhere, and she would wake up terrified from her ordeal but none the wiser to Vagabond’s identity. Still, Ryan knew Meg. What happened was scary, but it wouldn’t stop her looking for a story. She would be more motivated than ever to investigate the Fake AH Crew, knowing she now had a personal connection with them. He knew how she would see it – _“Vagabond knew I’d be shot, Ryan, he got me out of there safely. There’s more to them than just heists and violence, I think. I’m going to figure out.” –_ but he couldn’t let that happen. He drew his conclusions with a heart feeling suspiciously as though it was tearing in two. He’d have to tell her.

And she would leave him.

 Ryan looked at her face, stroking her hair and committing this moment to memory.

* * *

 After an hour losing the cops, and one car change, they finally pulled up to their safe house in the outer suburbs of Los Santos. Gavin was already there, running out to meet them before the garage door closed. He ran into Michael’s arms, who kissed him lightly, then everyone turned and watched silently as Ryan carried a still-unconscious Meg out of the car.

“You gonna tell her?” said Geoff softly, and everyone tensed. Ryan hesitated. He had decided, but his decision was not something that affected just him. If he did tell her, and she didn’t take it well, all their identities could be compromised.

“Yes,” said Ryan quietly. “I’ll – I’ll go to the safe-house in Morningwood.”

Everyone flinched. “You – you don’t think she’ll stay?” asked Gavin with distress. Clearly, Ryan didn’t want to stay at the same safe house as them because she believed she would walk away and all their identities would be revealed. 

That was exactly what Ryan thought, but it was too painful to say. Never had the crew seen Ryan like this, with his emotions so raw on his face. He turned away quickly; crossing the garage and snagging another set of keys off the key hook there. He was silently watched as he unlocked the other car in the garage – an inconspicuous little number that looked as though a father of three, whose wife had wrestled him down to this car from a Lamborghini, owned it. It was expensive – but embarrassingly safe and boring. Carefully, Ryan laid Meg in the backseat, then turned to the crew as he gently closed the door behind him.

“I’ll be back in a week,” he said distantly. As he got in the car to leave, the crew turned away to go into the house. It wasn’t because they didn’t care he was leaving – on the contrary. Much like on particularly dangerous missions, it was bad luck to worry about another member of the team. Moreover, it was disrespectful of the your teammate’s abilities. It was a show of high regard and faith in another’s capabilities to leave without saying goodbye. 

So – though not without effort – the crew turned away and went in the house without saying goodbye. Ryan knew why, too, but as he pulled out he felt, with a lump in his throat, that their faith might be misplaced.

Ryan glanced in his mirror, Meg unconscious in the backseat. Wisps of her purple hair were glancing her cheeks, and she looked ethereally peaceful.

He looked back to road. This was not her world. She would leave.  

* * *

 A week later, the five other members of the Fake AH Crew drove to their second safe house. It seemed like overkill, certainly. The main pretense as to why it was necessary for all five members to come was that they had one car to share, and checking in on Ryan was just the first stop before heading back to the penthouse. In truth, they could not decide who should be the one to check on him, and in the end it was voted that they should all go. 

The second safe house was a comfortable, unsuspecting apartment in Morningwood. In the elevator Jeremy already had a sense of foreboding, and when they came out on their floor his suspicions were confirmed. Being largely used for recon before missions, he noticed immediately the light layer of dust on the doorknob. Either Ryan’s girlfriend had not left all week, or she had left straight away. Geoff opened the door loudly, just in case it was the former.

It was not. The curtains were drawn, plunging the room into complete darkness, apart from the unhealthy glow from the television. Ryan was lying face-down on the couch, his long legs dangling over the end. As they entered, he opened one eye and groaned.

“So it’s been a week, then,” he said dully, rolling himself onto his back and sitting up. While the others stood in various states of concern – no one had ever really seen Ryan like this – Jeremy was having none of it. In the past half year, Jeremy and Ryan had become partners for quite a lot of missions, and Jeremy knew more about him than he thought he would. When he joined the Fake AH Crew, Ryan was the one he had been most wary of. Everyone had heard of Vagabond – ruthless, vicious, heartless – and Jeremy naturally harbored a slight fear and mistrust for the mercenary.

But on their third mission together – a stakeout – Ryan brought fruit snacks. Jeremy had made a backhand comment a month previously about his love for fruit snacks, and Ryan had brought some for the stakeout because he remembered Jeremy liked them. Some would have seen the gesture as creepy – Jeremy was certainly alarmed, initially. But after that stakeout with Ryan, Jeremy knew the world misjudged him. Vagabond was just a persona, and sometimes a crutch for Ryan’s lack of social skills. That didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy social situations, he just sometimes found them difficult. He cared deeply for his friends, though he found it hard to express. He loosened up more and more as the group spent more time together, but Jeremy was Ryan’s first attempt at casual interaction. After that, Jeremy and Ryan were Team Battle Buddies – a friendship based on fruit snacks, guns and violence, sure, but with an undercurrent of true camaraderie derived from some serious sharing on their long nights together.

So to this end Jeremy knew Ryan wouldn’t want to talk about it, and that asking him what happened would just make it worse. He would discuss what had happened in his own time, and this was not it.

Jeremy crossed the room and threw open the blinds, and Ryan groaned again and shielded his eyes. Jeremy ignored this, along with the impressed glances from the rest of the crew. 

“Get up, we’re going,” He said briskly, striding back over to the couch and offering Ryan his hand. Ryan looked very much like he’d rather stay there and wallow in self-pity, so Jeremy tried again.

“Gavin thought of a new idea for a heist, we we’re going to go to the apartment to look into setting it up.”

A lie, of course. Gavin had mentioned on the way to Ryan’s that it would be funny to dress up as firefighters and ironically start a fire, which led to a discussion about how a fire could be used to draw attention away from a separate heist, occurring simultaneously. They hadn’t really been taking the conversation seriously, but Jeremy had noticed that Geoff had a glint in his eye that meant he might be considering it. Well, now they definitely were considering it, because Jeremy knew that when Ryan had something on his mind that he didn’t want to think about, he would throw himself into work. And lo and behold, Ryan’s eyes lit up at the mention of a job, and he grabbed Jeremy’s hand and hauled himself to his feet.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

 Six weeks later, though, and it didn’t seem like Ryan was feeling better. He was one hundred percent absorbed in work – Geoff didn’t have enough missions to give him – and still, he retained a constantly miserable expression. There had been other times when Ryan had been troubled – the time he had accidently shot a civilian (she wasn’t killed, but he sure did feel guilty. She was about eighty years old, after all), the time he hit Michael with his car, when Ray left – but after working himself to exhaustion, his mind would eventually be clear enough to order his thoughts and figure out where he stood on what was bothering him.

It wasn’t happening this time. He was working like a maniac – planning their upcoming heist, running business check-ups for Geoff, targeting, surveillance, assassinations. But every night when he finally got home, so tired that his mind would surely be empty enough that he could figure why he couldn’t get this screaming, searing pain out of his chest – all he could think was _MegMegMeg God I miss her you should have told her MegMeg fuck fuck fuck I want to die god MegMegMegMEGMEGMEGMEG –_

But enough of that. Ryan was on a simple recon mission with Jeremy, and he needed to focus. _Though_ , he thought drily, _it was hardly a mission worth the time of two people._ He saw Jeremy glance at him slyly out of the corner of his eye, and Ryan’s suspicions were confirmed.

“So did Geoff ask you to come along to talk to me, or did you decide to on your own?”

Jeremy baulked, but to his credit it was barely noticeable, a well-covered-up twitch. He clearly weighed his options and decided to forgo all pretenses, turning his body to look at Ryan face-on. Ryan remained looking stonily ahead.

“Everyone asked me to,” he said flatly. “We’re all worried about you.”

“Well, I’m fine, Jeremy, but thanks for the babying. Tell the rest of the crew that, too.”

Jeremy did something unexpected at that point and punched the dashboard aggressively. Ryan, in truth, genuinely did not expect that from the usually calm Jeremy, but managed to conceal his flinch. Jeremy did, however, get his full attention, and Ryan turned to look at him incredulously. 

“Oh, would you look at that,” said Jeremy, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Emotions on the face of the Tin-Man. It’s a miracle.” Ryan’s face twisted into a scowl, but Jeremy continued with obstinacy.

“Don’t give me the face,” he fumed. “You have been moping around for a month and a half now, and it’s bringing everyone down. Look-“

“Well, I’m sorry,” interrupted Ryan, cold fury in his voice, “That my misery has been bringing everyone down. My bad.”

“Shut the fuck up with your self-pity and answer this, Ryan. _Did you love her?”_

And just like that, Jeremy stopped Ryan short. All initial rage was gone. Because Jeremy had immediately nailed exactly what the problem had been all along.

He did. He loved her so much it hurt. But when it came down to it, when he had to tell her…

_Ryan sat on the armchair, Meg lying on the couch. She had begun to stir in the last ten minutes, and it seemed like she would finally wake. Ryan had stressed over how he would tell her, but now he had reached a point of quiet defeat. There was no gentle way, so he would just say it. When her eyes flickered open, though, he lost courage._

_Meg eyes, for a moment, looked without seeing. Then she blinked a few times, and saw Ryan._

_“Ryan,” she rasped, and he pushed himself forward into a kneeling position beside her. She lifted herself up, looking around the room with utter confusion and disorientation. Helplessly, she looked at Ryan._

_“Where am I? When did you get here? Where-“ suddenly her face lit up with realization, and, immediately after, excitement. “Where are the Fake AH Crew, Ryan? They picked me up – oh my god, I got shot – Vagabond drugged me! How did you find me? Whose house is this? Ryan…? Why is your face painted?”_

_Ryan had no words. He could lie, so easily – “we’re at my friend’s house – the Fake AH Crew dropped you in front of the news station, they must know who you are – I was at paintball with Geoff when security from the station called me, that’s why I’m wearing greasepaint –“ but the lies had to stop. So, silently, he drew his Vagabond mask from his back pocket and dropped it in her lap._

_She picked it up, running her fingers over it. “This is Vagabond’s mask, Ryan,” she said slowly. “How – how did you get this?”_

_Ryan caught her eye just as horrified realization dawned upon it. She recoiled, looking at him as though she had never seen him before._

_“You – you –“_

_“I am Vagabond.”_

_She didn’t react. She just looked at him, the same confounded comprehension on her face. Ryan reached out and held her hand, to which she flinched and drew it back to her chest._

_“I never meant to hurt you –“ he tried, but she had finally found words._

_“You never meant to hurt me?” she said disbelievingly, her voice an octave higher than usual and steadily climbing. “You didn’t tell me you are part of the biggest gang in the city, but you never meant to hurt me? Did this mean anything to you at all? Or was this just a game to you? Date the girl from the news station who was investigating the Fake Ah Crew? So you could laugh about how far she was from the truth? Did I ever mean anything to you?”_

_The last sentence came out as a scream, and she pushed herself to her feet, knocking Ryan back as she strode to the other side of the couch. He slowly stood as she paced. She was tearing at the rings she wore, a clear sign she was stressed. He too stood, and tried to take a step towards her. She flinched and pressed her back against the wall._

_“Meg – I –“_

_“No.” her voice was deadly low, her hands still. “Answer me now, or I will walk out this door and never come back. Did I ever mean anything to you?”_

_Yes. Yes. God, yes, I love you so much, Meg, please don’t go._

_But he didn’t say that. Years of training kicked in and he fell silent. Love is weakness. Weakness is something they can exploit you with. No-one is safer than when they are alone. But then what were the Fake AH Crew? He couldn’t deny that they were his weakness, and everyone could tell. He would take a bullet for any of those men, and if that wasn’t love he wasn’t sure what was. But this was different. This was too unguarded, vulnerable. Or was it?_

_He hesitated too long. Tears were rolling down her face as she spun on her heel and yanked open the door. Perhaps it would have hurt more if she’d just left, but she had a parting blow that felt as though a sledgehammer in the chest._

_“I loved you.”_

“Ryan. I’m not going to assume, although it’s pretty clear to everyone. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I did love her.”

Jeremy exhaled slowly. He understood the gravity of the situation to Ryan, and gave him a moment of respectful silence.

“Then go _get_ her, Ryan.”

Ryan looked up sharply. “You know it’s not that simple.”

“It _is_ that simple. Go get her. Everything else will fall into place in its own time but until then is it worth being miserable for?”

Ryan looked incredulously at Jeremy, who tactfully looked out the window instead.

“Hey,” said Ryan after a long few minutes. “Are you okay on your own for a bit? I need to go sort something out.”

Jeremy continued to look out the window, but Ryan saw the corner of his mouth quirk into a smile. “Ah, I’ll be fine,” he said. “Go get her, tiger." 

“Don’t make it lame.”

Ryan could hear still Jeremy laughing good-naturedly as he walked away down the street.

And when he turned the corner and was out of Jeremy’s sight, he ran.

* * *

 He made it to Meg’s in record time for a man on foot in the middle of summer. Twelve blocks back he had stuffed his mask in his pocket and ditched his jacket into a dumpster without stopping. For all intents and purposes – those being to not scare Meg again – he wanted to be the Ryan she knew him as. God, if she wouldn’t take him back, he didn’t know what he’d do –

But enough of that. He was out the front of her apartment and as if by a miracle there was a person entering just as he came running up. He played the part of the southern gentleman, politely holding the door open for the woman as she struggled with her bags. She nodded to him gratefully and he did the same to her, knowing that Meg would not have buzzed him into the building.

From there, it was a short elevator ride up to her floor, and he hopped from foot to foot with nerves. When he made it to her door, though, his nerve failed.

What would he say? Would she just slam the door in his face? What would he _do_ if she did that?

He had no time to consider that, though, because Meg’s door was opening, and he took an alarmed step back. She was looking behind her, a phone to her ear as she pulled the door shut, and Ryan knew he could hide if he left right now. But he froze, just looking at her.

“No, Jon,” she was saying exasperatedly, as she turned. “No, it’s –“

Her eyes fell on Ryan and the words died in her throat. Faintly, Ryan could hear the man still talking on her phone – “ _Meg? Meg, you there?”_ – but he was transfixed by her face. She looked just the same, as beautiful as ever, but she had deep bags under her eyes and her hair looked duller, somehow. He wanted to reach out and touch her, and unconsciously he felt his hand already reaching for her –

“I’ll have to call you back, Jon,” Meg said quietly, hanging up without another word. For a moment they just looked at one another.

“What are you doing here, Vagabond?” Meg said, her voice still quiet. It sounded so wrong coming from her - so quiet, that horrible name on her lips.

There was a million things Ryan could have said. I’m sorry, take me back, I’ll give it up for you – but he wanted to be honest with her, and they were all stereotypical lies. He wasn’t sorry for the time she was safe with him, when she knew nothing. He wasn’t sorry for having those six months with her. He didn’t want her to take him back, he wanted her to be safe. And he couldn’t give it up even if he wanted to – he was in too deep and his countless enemies meant nowhere was safe. So he decided to say the only thing he could, the only thing that was completely true and the only thing he ever wanted anyone to know with absolute certainty.

“I love you.”

Meg’s face twitched. Neither of them moved. Something was moving behind Meg’s eyes – her brow was creased and her whole body was coiled like a spring. She was wrestling with her doubt, Ryan knew. But there was nothing more he could say to convince her. He had really screwed up and now he knew he must accept whatever decision she made, no matter how much it would kill him. Because he knew she would not believe him. He had broken her trust and he deserved what was about to happen.

So he certainly was surprised when she pitched forward like a wave breaking and pushed her lips against his. He closed his eyes into the kiss, barely daring to believe it, but when he felt the realness of her lips and the warmth of her body he responded with as much passion. He felt ecstasy climb through his body like a thermometer gauge rising, pushing out his arms and through his chest. He harnessed that feeling, lifting Meg off her feet and pressing her against the wall, kissing her as if this was the last thing he would ever do on Earth. She wrapped her legs around his waist with as much fervor until finally they broke apart, panting.

Ryan pressed his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” he gasped, kissing her nose, her cheek, her neck. “I love you, I love you, I love you –“

“I believe you,” Meg laughed, running her fingers through his hair and tugging his head up to look him in the eye. “I love you, too.” Her eyes became serious. “You must tell me everything. Never keep things from me again. I can’t – I won’t – this last month without you –“

“I know,” Ryan said softly. “I know. I’ll tell you everything. I’m so sorry. I love you.” 

Meg laughed again, a soft and incredible sound. “Who knew once you started saying it you’d never stop?”

Who knew, indeed. Ryan felt like a person he didn’t even know and he didn’t hate the feeling. Meg was running her fingers through his hair and her expression seemed to be promising some pretty amazing make-up sex – hallway or apartment seemed like a minor detail – when her phone rang again.

Meg wiggled out of Ryan’s arms and pulled her phone out of her pocket, placing a hand on Ryan’s chest to stop him from moving back to kissing her neck again.

“Hello? Oh, hi Jon – sorry I didn’t call you back yet -” she paused, listening with a slight frown. For a moment she was silent, her fingers tracing patterns idly on Ryan’s chest. Then a smile spread slowly across and she raised an eyebrow at Ryan cheekily.

“Little J of the Fake AH Crew?” she asked helpfully, for Ryan’s benefit, and Ryan rolled his eyes with a long-suffering sigh. It was not a sigh with actual anger, though. He was on a cloud of happiness and no absurd mess Jeremy had gotten himself into could pull him down.

“Uh huh,” Meg was saying. “Yeah, I’ll be there. He’ll go under the highway near Rockford? All right, I’ll be out the front in a ten.” She hung up, then turned to Ryan, grinning.

“So, do you have any insider information on what the Fake AH Crew was doing tonight? Because somehow there is a fifty car police chase in pursuit of Little J with apparently no provoked reason.”

“Oh, he provoked them somehow, I’m sure,” said Ryan drily.

“I’ll write that in my article,” she said seriously, taking his hand and leading him to the elevator. “How does this sound – ‘a source close to the group said that the police pursuit was certainly provoked, given Little J is a notorious shit-stirrer-‘”

“Hey, off record! You’re misinterpreting me!” said Ryan playfully. The elevator arrived and they got in. “So, you’re going there now then?”

“Yeah,” said Meg, looking a little crestfallen. “I’m sorry my job got in the way of our –“

“No, don’t be sorry,” Ryan said quickly. “It’s not your job that got in the way, it’s mine. Anyway,” he said brightly, “Something just came up for me, I’ve got to run to work too. One of my colleagues is having some trouble with the police, I don’t know if you’ve heard? On a side note, I’ve got a hot tip – Vagabond might be on the scene of that police chase in a moment. The two incidents are completely unrelated, though.”

Meg laughed and Ryan laughed along with her as the doors to the elevator opened. As they walked out onto the street, Ryan pulled Meg back with a serious expression.

“Are you okay with this, though? I do – well, I do need to go.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, you know, while we were – apart,” she said. “I decided if you came back and said you loved me, and I thought you meant it, then the rest didn’t matter to me. I don’t care about your job, I just want to think I know who I’m dating and that I hadn’t been sleeping with a stranger in my bed for months.” Ryan looked away with an ashamed expression, but Meg pulled his face back to look her in the eye again.

“I trust you,” she said calmly. “Do what you have to do, but tell me about it, okay? That’s all I want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I want _you,_ not a fake idea of you that you’re projecting.”

“Okay,” Ryan said softly. “I can do that. I can start right now. My name is James Ryan Haywood. I’m from Georgia where I was taught to be contract killer by my father. Now I work in Los Santos for the Fake AH Crew. I also have a pet cow called Edgar.”

Meg smiled. “That’s more than you’ve ever told me about yourself. Thank you.”

“There’s going to be a time when you wished you never asked to know more about me, you know.”

“Maybe so, but until that day I look forward to hearing about your fetish for cows.”

“Okay, misinterpreting again.”

At that moment, the _Los Santos Times_ news van pulled up, and Meg looked up distractedly. Jon wound down the window.

“Hurry up and get in!” he called. “We’re going to miss all the burnouts and car flips!” 

Meg rolled her eyes at his impatience and held up one finger, turning back to Ryan – but he was no longer there. Meg looked around her, confused, but he was nowhere in sight. She began to walk slowly over to the van, perplexed – until she heard a man yell down the street. A moment later, a motorbike roared past – and Vagabond’s eerie mask was clearly visible on its wearer. 

Meg got in, concealing a grin. Jon was already shouting into his radio, peeling off the curb in pursuit of Vagabond – _“No, Miles, I’m not kidding, Vagabond just went straight past us! He must be going to Little J, Meg and I are going to follow him –“_ but Meg was quiet.

They still had a lot of talking to do, she knew that. The breakup hadn’t just been his fault, it had been hers, too. She had put herself in danger without thinking of him – but he did the same, as it turned out, everyday. Their relationship was wildly complicated – but, Meg thought with a smile she couldn’t conceal – who ever said life was supposed to simple?

“How lucky are we?!” Jon said excitedly, interrupting her thoughts. “We can use the dash cam footage, this’ll give us an advantage no other news station has! Thank god for Vagabond!" 

“Amen to that,” Meg agreed with a wild laugh. _Thank god for Vagabond, indeed._

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, hope you enjoyed this fic! Let me know what ya'll think if you've got the time, like and kudos and so on.  
> And if you don't have the time then please think of me one day when you are catching the bus home and the rain pours outside, running down the window of the bus. Place one hand on the window-pane and think of the dreams you left behind. Wonder where I am now and smile, because I touched your heart and that's all that matters.  
> Or don't, if you hated it.


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